


Emptiness Is All You Know

by Vellenox



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, Bleeding Out, M/M, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-17
Updated: 2013-07-17
Packaged: 2017-12-20 11:24:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,610
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/886688
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vellenox/pseuds/Vellenox
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He knew he wouldn’t be able to last much longer – he was only human after all, and the things chasing after him were stronger and faster, and they were natural hunters. All he had was his dumb luck and intuition, and maybe a leg-up in terms of intelligence.</p><p>But he wasn’t about to underestimate the rogue werewolves that were hot on his tail. Not when he was outnumbered and completely out of his depth.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Emptiness Is All You Know

**Author's Note:**

> Trigger Warning: There's a scene where a knife is used to cut one's self, as well as pretty graphic (?) scenes of torture and violence and killing.
> 
> I don't know. I just have a lot of angst.

Stiles’ chest was burning; his heart was hammering harshly, painfully. There was blood rushing in his ears almost too loud to hear over, the pounding of his feet against the pavement sounded distant and felt numbed. He’d been running for what seemed like hours now, arms pumping, legs scorching with the effort.

He knew he wouldn’t be able to last much longer – he was only human after all, and the things chasing after him were stronger and faster, and they were natural hunters. All he had was his dumb luck and intuition, and maybe a leg-up in terms of intelligence.

But he wasn’t about to underestimate the rogue werewolves that were hot on his tail. Not when he was outnumbered and completely out of his depth.

He came to a jerky stop, the soles of his shoes failing to grip on the cement and sliding out instead. He flailed for a minute, cursing under his breath, because Stiles, seriously, there isn’t time for flailing right now. Every second that ticked by was another step closer that the wolves would catch up; and when they did, he was dead.

He didn’t waste another moment more before taking in his surroundings and making the decision to start off again; this time towards the forest. He hoped his recent knowledge of the forest’s layout would be enough to help him increase the distance between him and his hunters, but it was a longshot. He’d only been hiking through the land occasionally when the pack sparring sessions were cancelled and he had nothing better to do.

It’s not like he’d grown up in the forest like Derek had. He hadn’t lived off the land or played hide and seek in the undergrowth. And yeah, wasn’t that ironic, because he’d run out of steam soon and reliving a childhood game like hide and seek would probably be his best chance at survival.

As he got further and further away from the central area of the town, and he got more into the suburbs, trees began to appear more regularly and with higher density. It wasn’t exactly a labyrinth or anything, but it would have to be good enough.

All he had to do was last through until morning; and he could totally do that, right? Right. It wasn’t a question. He couldn’t allow himself a shadow of a doubt, because he _would_ survive this. The Rogue werewolves weren’t going to win. Scott and Isaac and Derek would find him before they did.

Stiles didn’t even slow down as he hopped a backyard fence and landed inside the forest. He ran even harder, submerging himself in the trees until he could barely see in front of himself anymore. It was too dark. He hadn’t accounted for that. He’d been too busy running for his life to think straight.

He let out a frustrated huff of air as he came to a stop. He bent over, panting and struggling to motivate his lungs to start working properly again. He closed his eyes tightly, rubbed as the sweat drenching his forehead.

There had to be some place he could go. Somewhere they couldn’t find him.

He thought as quickly as he could, not fighting the sporadic, clumsy way his brain jumped from option to option. Most of it fell apart before he could even grasp it, thoughts slipping through his fingers like sand; and the sand in this case was like the hourglass slowly emptying its contents.

He was running out of time.

There was a howl in the distance, one he recognized. And then there it was – clear as day. A thought that couldn’t slip away, because it was imprinted in Stiles now, like it was a part of his original brain chemistry.

 _The Hale house basement_.

He reached into his pocket and slipped out his switchblade. He knew one way he could bide himself a little time – hopefully enough to allow him to get to the old, burnt down house in the middle of the forest.

He took a deep breath and silenced his mind; let the emptiness wash over him. He placed the blade against his palm, hesitating and with hands shaking held his breath. He pressed down just enough pressure and began to drag, feeling the slow sting of his skin being sliced open.

It hurt, he inhaled sharply at the pain, but when it was done he closed up the blade and put it back into his pocket.

Blood was already being pushed out of the wound, dripping down the side of Stiles’ hand and onto the dirt and grassy floor. He walked up to the nearest tree and pressed his palm against the bark, leaving a smear of blood behind when he pulled it away. He squinted through the darkness; which was lessening as Stiles’ eyes adjusted to the low light, and began on his way again, careful not to trip over any stray roots or rocks.

He continued to mark his path as he ran, stopping every so often to scrape his hand against another tree, and another after that. He ran further West than he needed to, to reach the Hale house; but he hoped his blood trail would be enough to throw the wolves off his trail.

Another howl tore through the air, much closer this time, and for a moment Stiles allowed the tiny spark of hope inside of him to light up a little more. He turned back towards the direction of the house and started running; dividing his attention between tearing off a piece of fabric from his shirt and wrapping it around the cut on his hand.

His muscles were aching and his lungs felt like they were going to shrivel up; but he kept going. He stumbled a few times but always caught himself before he could hit the ground. The endless thick of trees blurred by him, but he wasn’t focusing on them, and he wasn’t focusing on how his limbs felt like they were being burned from the inside out.

He was focused on that howl. _Derek’s_ howl. And he wasn’t going to stop.

He was almost at the house when a body crashed into his side, tackling him to the ground and knocking what little breath he had out of him. He tried to reach for his blade but a hand wrapped around his wrist and tugged it over his head harshly, almost pulling his arm out of its socket. He whimpered – and he hated himself for it.

The struggle didn’t last too long; mostly because Stiles was no match for a werewolf that was twice his size and strength, but also because before he could do anything there was a sharp pain in the back of his head and he was knocked unconscious.

He had no intention of waking up, but that really wasn’t his call to make.

When he did eventually come to, his brain was fuzzy and his entire body felt like it’d been hit by a truck several times, like someone was trying to make a point. He blinked his eyes open, forcing them against their will to focus in the dim light of… wherever he was.

His body was chained to the wall; his wrists in restraints protruding from the wall, along with his ankles. It was painful and unpleasant.

He tilted his head to the side and cried out in pain. Immediately he realized he wasn’t alone, because one of them – a big, dark, burly looking dude – shoved his face into Stiles’, baring his teeth and glaring at Stiles with red-hued eyes.

Stiles started chuckling; though it sounded more like a wrecked cough than anything else. And it was bitter. So, so bitter. “You’re the Alpha? The big bad Rogue pack Alpha? Jesus fucking Christ.” Stiles gritted out and was rewarded with a heavy handed slap to the side of his face for the effort. Stiles could feel blood dripping down his cheek from where the Alpha’s claws had torn into him. “Was running all night for nothin’.”

The Alpha grabbed Stiles’ cheeks in his hand, irritating the claw markings and pulling at the sensitive flesh. “You’re not very smart now are you?” His claws were pricking at Stiles’ skin as his grip tightened, almost crushing. “I think that pretty mouth of yours would look much better torn off, and it’ll probably sound sweeter screaming.” The Alpha’s lips curled into a sinister smile. “Will you scream for me?”

Stiles did his best to smile back, though it proved to be pretty difficult what with his cheeks being all squeezed together and whatnot. “Not much of a screamer actually. More of a moaner; and only if you take your time. I’m a fan of delayed gratification. And if you tell me your name I promise I’ll wear it out.” He winked, and the Alpha immediately spat on him, a glob of it landing somewhere on Stiles’ shirt.

“Oh, I’ll make you moan alright. I’ll go nice and slow at first. Pull off a fingernail here and there, break a few bones.” The Alpha hissed and let his hand trail down from Stiles’ cheeks, down until his fingers were wrapping around Stiles’ neck.

“Sounds hot. Do I get to return the favour?” Stiles asked. The Alpha dug his claws into his neck, just barely breaking skin. It was hard for Stiles to swallow under the pressure of the werewolf’s iron grip. “Come on big boy, tell me some more.”

There was a deep growl in the Alpha’s chest. “I’m going to _burn_ your flesh.” He spat, pulling at Stiles’ neck and then slamming him back against the wall. Stiles’ brain felt like it was vibrating with a steady flow of pain, rattling in his skull violently. “I’ll make you regret the fact you were ever born. You’ll beg an absent god for mercy, and when no mercy comes the screaming will start. And that Alpha of yours will come running.”

Stiles tilted his head, grinding his teeth together. “Oh, cool, so you’re like a nymphomaniac, yeah? The more the merrier? I mean, I’ve never had a threesome before but I’ve heard things can get pretty exciting.” The Alpha’s fist connected with Stiles’ jaw this time, and he definitely heard a crack. He felt blood pooling in his mouth – copper and salty and _wrong_. “Sadism and masochism too, okay, I think I can work with that.”

Another punch.

“Open your mouth again I’m gonna cut your tongue out and shove it back down your throat.” The Alpha threatened sharply, taking a step away from Stiles and into the shadows.

Stiles could barely make anything out, his eyes were a little swollen and the darkness wasn’t doing him any kind of favour. When the Alpha reappeared in the dim light he had a surgical knife in his hand. “I’ve had a lot of things shoved down my throat y’know – never my own tongue. So this should be fun. Careful though, I unfortunately do have a gag reflex. Learned _that_ the hard way, let me tell you.” Stiles was trying extremely hard not to let the fear he was feeling in the very depths of his stomach creep into his voice, but his words wavered.

The Alpha smiled; all fangs and teeth and threatening. “You’re going to die tonight, human. And I’m going to make sure it’s as painful and excruciating an experience than you had ever had in your entire life. I’ll keep you alive just long enough so that you can watch me kill your Alpha, and then, only after you’ve begged me for death like the pitiful creature you are, I’ll kill you.”

Stiles stared hard at him, unblinking and somehow finding it in himself to ignore his fear and focus on the anger welling up inside of him.

“Why are you doing this?” Stiles asked – or, well, demanded an answer.

The Alpha shrugged, suddenly turning away and spreading his arms out in front of him, his head tilted slightly back. “We’re killers. It’s what we do, how we live.” The Alpha said, but it wasn’t a good enough answer. And Stiles knew he was in no position to be asking anything right now, but it was buying him time.

“Yeah, I’ve seen what you and your pack do. You’re a bunch of freaks. Monsters. Killing innocent humans for the fun of it.” Stiles was pissed now; thinking back to all of the people he hadn’t been able to save. The ones this piece of shit had torn apart and _eaten_ , like an animal.

It was wrong. It made Stiles sick to his stomach.

The Alpha twisted back to him, a thoughtful gaze in those blood-rimmed eyes. “And you’re the judge between right and wrong? What makes me a monster for simply following my nature? No. If you want a monster just look at yourself. Look at what the human race has become.” The Alpha paused. “If I were you, I’d be more concerned with counting my own sins, than those of an allegedly deranged beast.”

“Oh, there’s no _alleged_ about it, it’s definitely what you are. Deranged, psychotic, disturbed, unstable…” There were a few other words Stiles could use, but he was buying time, not trying to get his throat ripped out; which may or may not happen anyways.

The Alpha let out a sharp, bitter laugh. “Just words. All of it’s just words.” He waved him off and placed a hand on Stiles’ shoulder. “Since you seem to like words so much, here’s what we’re going to do.” He grabbed a hold of Stiles’ arm with his hand, holding it tightly in place up against the wall. He looked over Stiles’ skin, a twisted look in his eyes. He tapped his blade against Stiles’ hand, right against the cut Stiles had done himself. “This was a clever trick. A couple of mine fell for it, but we always knew where you’d go. There’s no escaping from us.”

And then, without warning, the werewolf was carving Stiles’ wrist with his blade. Stiles tried not to fight against it; tried not to let the pain overwhelm him and flow out of him in screams and pleading words. He held his breath and closed his eyes tightly, picturing the pack in the darkness of his mind; Scott and his goofy grin, Isaac with his adorable smile, Allison and her father standing strong (both humans of insanely kick-ass proportions), Lydia and her overall badassedness, Danny with his grins and remarks (and he was human too, one of the best Stiles had ever come to know), hell, even thinking of Cora and her seriously snide remarks and annoying little-sister attitude, and Melissa and Stiles’ father, both of them with their infinite ability to care and love and support, and then, lastly, Derek.

 _Derek_. The guy with one of the biggest hearts in existence. It took a while to show itself, but in the moments that it mattered most Derek’s heart was there without hesitation. Loving and consoling and protecting.

Stiles had gotten to see it a lot lately; especially in the soft, needy tugs from Derek’s lips on his. He could feel Derek’s heart every time Derek looked him in the eye, or when Derek’s hands wrapped around Stiles’ body in an all-encompassing way that made Stiles feel _safe_. Derek’s heart was everywhere, if you watched closely enough. Saw the way he looked when he thought no one was watching.

He let that vision wash over him like a security blanket, distract him from the agony he was currently undergoing.

“You can fight it all you want, but in the end you’ll break.” There was blood dripping freely from the fresh cuts on Stiles’ lower arm. He looked over at the mess of it, his brain denying that it’d came from him, that it was his blood that he was seeing. There was too much of it. Too much blood.

The cuts weren’t so deep that he’d bleed out, but they were deep enough that Stiles could practically feel a part of himself draining. He was already feeling out of it because of how exhausted he was; his head felt like it wasn’t attached to his body. Blood loss wasn’t exactly a health benefit. He was only going to get worse.

“See what I did?” The Alpha asked, grabbing Stiles’ chin and jerking it to the side. Stiles closed his eyes, feeling his stomach clench. He didn’t want to see anymore. No more blood. But he could still smell it, and his stomach churned uneasily. “ _Open your eyes_!” The Alpha roared, and Stiles didn’t want to obey, but what else could he do?

When he squinted them open the Alpha roughly wiped at the blood now coating Stiles’ arm. Underneath the smeared blood Stiles could make out the faint lines of where he’d been cut. The lines were harsh and clumsy, but it was clear what the intent of the crude cutting had been.

It was a single word, one that would no doubt scar and be carved into Stiles’ flesh for the remainder of his life – no matter how short or long that turned out to be.

‘ _Human_ ’.

“ _This_ is what you are. Nothing else. You are prey and you are weak and you are _not_ a hero. You’ll never be anything more than _human_. And that’s your biggest sin,” the Alpha paused, looking thoughtfully at Stiles’ hardening face. “Your Alpha isn’t any better, for taking such a weak mate for his pack. He needs to be eliminated. The rest need to be taught a lesson.”

Stiles fought the urge to vomit and held it all down; the anxiety, the fear… He had to be strong.

So he started to laugh. “You actually think Derek’s coming?” The Alpha smiled.

“I know he is. Him and the rest of your disgraceful excuse for a pack.” The Alpha set the bloodied surgical blade down on the table hidden in the shadows before turning back to Stiles. “And don’t think we don’t know about Scott too. Him and that sappy little story about how he’s a _True Alpha_. I suppose having virtue can transform you into anything, but I’m pretty satisfied of what mine have done for me.”

Stiles couldn’t help it, he laughed again. “ _Virtues_? I didn’t realize slaughtering innocents and _eating them_ qualified as anything close to virtuous or righteous.” Not that Stiles could ever see someone like this monster worrying about morality and doing what’s right. But every villain felt their acts of horror were justified, and psychopaths like this fucker no doubt had some way of defending their actions.

“My virtues as a hunter.” The Alpha sighed, shrugging. “I am what I am, and I do what I do very well. That’s my virtue.” Stiles really wanted to roll his eyes, but he also didn’t want to lose them, so he refrained. “In any event, I think it’s time to kick things up a notch, don’t you agree?” He walked up to Stiles, grabbing his unbloodied arm in his hands; one at Stiles’ should and the other around Stiles’ wrist. The Alpha leaned in close. “ _This might hurt_.”

And then there was a snap, and Stiles couldn’t stop the screams ripping out of his chest.

«««ɫ¤ɫ»»»

Derek was surrounded.

There were three rogue werewolves circling him, gnashing their teeth and clawing at Derek, trying to provoke him to make the first move. He eyed them, coiling in a defensive stance, knowing he could wait them out and take them down one by one.

But he didn’t have the _time_ damn it. He’d lost Stiles’ scent as soon as he reached the old house, and then out of practically nowhere he was ambushed. He’d wounded one of them so far, enough that he was limping, but otherwise the three of them were highly advantaged.

That was, they were, until Scott and Isaac showed up.

Scott tackled one of them to the ground just as Isaac grabbed hold of the smallest one and held her hard against a nearby tree. That left Derek with just the one; and he disposed of him quickly enough, ripping out the beta’s throat easily and discarding the lifeless body to the ground.

His vision was still a mix of red and dark grey, but Scott’s voice broke through the Alpha haze. “Derek! You need to calm down! No one needs to die!” Scott’s voice was pleading and authorize all at the same time, and Derek didn’t know how to respond. Derek didn’t know how to have the same lenience and compassion towards a bunch of rogue, homicidal werewolves. He saw no way they could ever redeem themselves in life.

So they needed to die.

They needed to die for the lives that they’d taken, and they needed to die for taking Stiles. No exceptions. No redemption.

“You’ve seen their kills Scott! These aren’t misunderstood, dejected werewolves we’re dealing with! These are rogue wolves.” He paused, walking over to Isaac, who was struggling to hold the woman in place. Her eyes were wide and rabid – all that was there behind the blue gaze of her eyes were pure anger mixed with insanity and instinct. He grabbed her neck. “They’ll kill you if you don’t kill them first.”

And he snapped her neck in half. Isaac dropped her limp body to the ground, looking unsure if he should side with Derek or with Scott.

Scott looked like he was having an internal battle of his own. Derek wasn’t going to waste any more time staring at Scott. He approached him and the last rogue werewolf, looming over both of them. “Where’s Stiles?” Derek growled, kneeling down beside them on the ground. When no answer came he let out a rumble of a growl. “Where the _fuck_ did your Alpha take him?” Still not a single syllable of an answer.

Scott tensed up, his eyes lighting up red. “ _Answer him_!” He roared and the rogue flinched. There was a split second before the rogue winced.

“The bank!” She whined, tearing running down her face and soiling the dirt. “The abandoned bank!”

Derek didn’t hesitate. He didn’t even wait for Scott to try and stop him, or for Isaac to decide between the both of them. He was going to save Stiles, and he was going to kill the rogue Alpha.

Scott pulled the last remaining rogue werewolf to her feet and looked into her eyes. He tried to see her humanity. He tried to feel sympathy for whatever backstory she may or may not have had. But he saw nothing. And that’s how he knew.

Sometimes some people were beyond being saved… some people did more harm than good… some people needed to… _die_. So he killed her without a word, ripped her throat wide open and let her bleed out on the forest floor.

 «««ɫ¤ɫ»»»

“I must say, Stiles. I’m impressed.” The Alpha’s voice echoed in the darkness and Stiles flinched.

There was blood dripping down his forehead, and he couldn’t open one of his eyes anymore; it was too battered and bruised. He’d stopped feeling the pain right around the same time the Alpha switched from using the blade to using the hot iron to burn at Stiles’ flesh.

There were bits of fabric clinging to the open wounds, sticking to the blood and flesh, leftover from the shirt he was still wearing. Stiles wasn’t sure what the emptiness he felt meant. He just knew that surrounded by the void he felt nothing, and right now nothing is what he needed. Otherwise he’d pass out, or die, and the Alpha would get his way.

There was no way in hell Stiles was going to let that happen.

“I am quite impressive, yeah.” Stiles said, his voice sounding as hollow as he felt. The Alpha tilted his head curiously.

“Your spirit is remarkable, but I suppose even great stallions can be broken of their will.” The Alpha pressed the glowing red iron to Stiles’ stomach, and the sizzling of flesh filled the air. Stiles could hear himself screaming, but inside his head he was burrowing even deeper into the emptiness. “Let’s see how fast I can do that, shall we?” The Alpha set down the iron and picked up a pair of garden shears.

“What’s with the sudden rush?” Stiles asked. At the very edges of his protective void he could feel panic beginning to press up against the defensive barrier in his mind.

The Alpha sighed, chopping at the air as if to test that the shears were working properly. “It seems things may not turn out as well as I’d hoped they would.” He looked over at Stiles and pointed the shears in his direction. “It turns out I’ve underestimated your Alpha and this small pack of his. All three of my betas are dead. I guess that makes your mate a killer.”

Stiles knew he probably should’ve felt… something… but if anything this news settled something inside of him. “He did what he had to do.” Stiles said, attempting to shrug but instead began to have a coughing fit that left him gasping for air to steady his breath. “And if he has to he’ll kill you too.” It was a threat, and a promise, and Stiles wanted to live through to see this fucker die.

The Alpha smiled. “Yes, I know. But I’ll kill you first.” He started forward, shears first, and Stiles closed his eyes. He felt the garden tool pierce his lower abdomen and tried to jerk away. He waited for the shears to do more damage; plunge deeper and cut at his insides.

But, almost as soon as the blow was delivered, the Alpha pulled away. Or, rather, was _being_ pulled away. He was thrown into the shadows, and from there something took place that Stiles couldn’t quite see. There were glowing eyes and snarling growls and the general sounds of fighting.

He heard one final whimper, and then there was nothing, only emptiness and silence. The darkness settled in shortly after.

There was a voice that kept repeating itself inside Stiles’ head – _just hold on, please. Hold on Stiles._ And then all he could hear was screaming.

«««ɫ¤ɫ»»»

Stiles wasn’t going to make it and it was all Derek’s fault. He should never have let Stiles out of his sight. Hell, he shouldn’t even be with Stiles in the first place. But he’d been selfish. And now Stiles was bleeding out, losing so much blood Derek was almost certain Stiles wouldn’t last much longer. Derek let out a mournful howl – one that sounded heartbreakingly hopeless and lost and _broken_.

When Scott got there and found Derek clutching on to Stiles’ unconscious, unresponsive body, he told Derek to let Stiles go. But Derek couldn’t do that. He held on more tightly to the boy’s broken, bleeding body. “We have to do something!” Isaac shouted at them, and Scott nodded, looking over Derek with cautious eyes.

“I need you to give Stiles to me Derek. Please.” Scott kneeled down beside Derek, reaching out for Stiles. Derek jerked away, growling and protectively sheltering Stiles in his arms. “Derek. I need to get him to my mom. She can save him, I promise.” There was a long, considering pause. “It’s either that or we turn him.”

Derek looked up at Scott. “What?”

Scott took a deep breath. “If we can’t get him to my mom he’s going to die. If we give him the bite there’s a chance he’ll survive. So you’re going to give him to me and I’m going to bring him to my mom.” Scott hesitantly slipped his arms around Stiles, trying to avoid the various open wounds and sensitive areas.

Derek didn’t say anything more, just let Scott take Stiles away from him.

He stood and followed them out, and the three of them piled into Derek’s van, lying Stiles out on the back seat . There was blood everywhere, and the scent of it was so intense Derek was sure he’d never forget the smell of it. The smell of his mate dying in his van.

He let Isaac drive, knowing he was in no condition to be behind the wheel, and instead he sat in the back with Stiles, with Stiles’ head in his lap.

He monitored Stiles’ heartbeat and watched his chest to make sure he was still breathing. The drive to get to the hospital felt like it took forever, like time had frozen and the whole world decided to numb itself out.

The only clear thing to Derek was Stiles, and how pale he was looking, and how slow his heart seemed to be getting. The thought of losing Stiles was… maddening. It wasn’t even a coherent thought because Derek couldn’t even bring himself to look too closely at the chance that Stiles wasn’t going to make it out of this alive.

They eventually did get to the hospital, and when Derek looked at the clock in the car while Scott was carrying Stiles out of the back, he realized they’d made it from the bank to the hospital in a little under ten minutes.

They rushed Stiles into Emerge and they wheeled him into the ICU quickly. Melissa asked all the necessary questions fairly calmly – if anything supernatural needed to be treated, what the hell had happened to Stiles? – but she still seemed pretty shaken up. The doctors were apparently doing the best that they could, but nothing was certain.

Stiles could still die.

They sat in the waiting room impatiently waiting to hear about Stiles’ condition. The sheriff showed up within the half hour and immediately cornered Derek; thrusting Derek up against the wall and demanding answers.

“You said you’d keep him safe!” The sheriff yelled, stirring up the attention of the others in the waiting room. “You promised me, Derek!” And there wasn’t anything Derek could even say to that, because he _had_ promised. He promised a lot of things that he maybe couldn’t keep. And yeah, it was his fault the sheriff might lose his son tonight.

“I’m sorry.” Derek said, and he was crying, his hands were shaking. The sheriff was shaking too. “I’m sorry.” He repeated and the older man suddenly collapsed into Derek’s shoulder. He cried and shook with silent sobs, and Derek didn’t know what to do but stand there and take it.

“Tell me you killed them. Whoever did this to my son.” The sheriff asked quietly. Derek nodded, and that was enough of an answer for Mr. Stilinski. He pulled away from Derek and joined Isaac and Scott where they were sitting.

It was another hour before Melissa came out of the ICU, blood covering her scrubs and Derek knew instantly that it belonged to Stiles. “He’s stabilized, for now.” She’d told them, and they all let out a sigh of relief. All of them except for Derek, that is, because he was still stuck on the _for now_ part to be concerned about being relieved of his own stress and worry.

He needed to see Stiles; to touch him and hold him and make sure that he was going to be okay.

They weren’t officially allowed to visit him yet, but Derek slipped into the room anyways, closing the door behind him. He slumped down into the chair in the corner, letting his head rest in his hands as he closed his eyes. Seeing Stiles like this, stitched and bandaged up, bruised and skin still stained red from the blood, a cast covering his left arm while a thick bandage covered his left; it was hard to take in. But at least he was still breathing.

Derek stayed in the room for a long time before he heard a set of footsteps approaching. He slipped into the bathroom and waited, hidden in the shadows from whoever was coming to check in on Stiles.

It turned out to be Melissa, and she knew Derek was there. “He’s going to be alright Derek. He’ll pull through. He’s stubborn, just like his mother was. Just like his dad is.” And a little part of Derek allowed himself to hope that she was right.

He fell asleep in the chair next to Stiles’ bed, and awoke when he heard shifting. Stiles’ eyes were open, and he was staring over at Derek with a small smile on his lips.

“You look like hell.” Stiles said, his voice sounding raw. Derek smiled, raising an eyebrow.

“I bet you feel like hell.” He countered, leaning in closer and gently resting his hand on top of Stiles’.

Stiles swallowed, shifting his head to look up at the ceiling. “I do.” He answered, all the humour leaving his voice. It was a while before Derek broke the silence.

“I killed him you know.” Derek said, watching to see Stiles’ reaction.

There wasn’t one. “I know.”

Truth was, Stiles knew everything. Stiles knew how Derek felt, knew what kind of person was underneath everything else, because Derek had let him in. Derek had let Stiles into his life – let him love him and care for him – and now Stiles was in a hospital bed after a night of fighting for his life. He was still pale and fragile looking from all the blood loss.

Derek was going to make sure Stiles never ended up this way again; even if it meant never parting from his side ever again. Because he loved Stiles, and Stiles loved him too. And if they weren’t careful, that’d be the death of them one day.

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by Imagine Dragons - Bleeding Out


End file.
